As many a philosopher has observed, we secretly enjoy the
misfortunes of others, particularly of our friends, since they
are closest to us. Most persons hasten to deny this truth in its
application to themselves. They do so either because from lack of
clear understanding they are not quite honest with themselves,
from lack of clear introspection, or because, as may be more
easily believed, they are not quite honest in the assertion. As a
matter of fact, we do find a singular satisfaction in the
troubles of others. Contemplation of such suffering renders more
striking the contrasted well-being of our own lot. We need the
pains of others to serve as background for our joys--just as sin
is essential as the background for any appreciation of virtue,
even any knowledge of its existence.... So now, on the day of
Mary Turner's trial, there was a subtle gaiety of gossipings to
and fro through the store. The girl's plight was like a
shuttlecock driven hither and yon by the battledores of many
tongues. It was the first time in many years that one of the
employees had been thus accused of theft. Shoplifters were so
common as to be a stale topic. There was a refreshing novelty in
this case, where one of themselves was the culprit. Her fellow
workers chatted desultorily of her as they had opportunity, and
complacently thanked their gods that they were not as she--with
reason. Perhaps, a very few were kindly hearted enough to feel a
touch of sympathy for this ruin of a life.

Of such was Smithson, a member of the executive staff, who did
not hesitate to speak his mind, though none too forcibly. As for
that, Smithson, while the possessor of a dignity nourished by
years of floor-walking, was not given to the holding of vigorous